


THIS MIDNIGHT SPELL WILL BREAK AT DAWN

by spills



Series: half measures [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (I think?), Biting, Choking, Explicit Sexual Content, Happy Birthday Motoya!, In Denial of Feelings Too, Just Some Boys Playing Pretend, M/M, Orgasm Denial, The Men of Yoshiwara Otome Game!AU, hope u like being railed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:46:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25591519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spills/pseuds/spills
Summary: “Imagine if our roles were reversed,” Motoya says one night with his face nestled in the crook of Rin’s collarbone.
Relationships: Komori Motoya/Suna Rintarou
Series: half measures [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1830283
Comments: 15
Kudos: 48





	THIS MIDNIGHT SPELL WILL BREAK AT DAWN

**Author's Note:**

> rework of "dawn and i will think of you"  
> happy birthday komori motoya, u really are the best boy, i love you to bits and pieces.

“Imagine if our roles were reversed,” Motoya says one night with his face nestled in the crook of Rin’s collarbone. 

His voice was thick with sleep as Rin threaded fingers through soft brown locks, sounding as if he would doze off soon. Maybe it was because Motoya was exhausted from the day’s activities that he ended up letting his mind a little further away. Not that Rin knew much about how Motoya felt about his day, only knew of what the other man did. 

Today, Motoya didn’t talk about his day at all. Had dinner with Rin and drank more wine than usual. Lounged around on the  _ futon _ and simply entangled their limbs together. The kisses tonight felt as if they were given from someone more ghost than person. When asked if he wanted anything more, Motoya merely shook his head light-heartedly, wore a crooked grin when he asked if it would be alright if Rin just held him throughout the night. 

Instead of asking his husband what was wrong, Rin kissed Motoya’s forehead, and said  _ yes _ . They’re only wed to another within the perimeters of Yoshiwara, so Motoya’s life outside of the tea house was none of Rintarou’s concern. 

Especially if Motoya never talks about his life. Boundaries needed to be drawn, even if his patrons don’t, Rintarou has lines he toes, but doesn’t cross. 

“What do you mean by that?” Rin humours the drowsy husband in his arms, stroking Motoya’s back soothingly.

“I’m the one all dolled up, and you’re the husband I’m waiting for,” Motoya’s voice is wistful, maybe even sad, and Rintarou’s brows knit, unsure of where Motoya is going with his thoughts. Rintarou wonders if Motoya is aware of how cruel he’s being right now. Sometimes, Rin wonders too, what life would have been like, if he were a lord, and Motoya was the one he was courting. 

What it would mean if… and Rintarou squeezes his eyes shut, refusing to follow the rabbit down its hole. 

In this life. Rintarou is a courtesan. Motoya is a lord’s servant. Rintarou is a courtesan and Motoya is only one of his many spouses within the red-light district. Every person is bound to have a fantasy, and Rintarou’s work requires him to provide this body of his to fulfill fantasies, sate curiosities. A fantasy should not be looking in the direction of other fantasies, and yet… Rin is curious. 

It isn’t often Motoya talks about what he desires. 

“Is that a thought you just had?” Rin taps his fingers along the side of Motoya’s hip bone, wanting to hear more of what the man fantasizes about. Or if the thought itself is fleeting, and should be discarded as the night’s musings. 

Motoya shakes his head, “Nope,” and if exhaustion makes the other man this honest, maybe Rin should tire him out as often as possible. “It crosses my mind occasionally,” and Motoya’s voice is shy, muffled in the cotton of Rin’s clothing. “I guess… I wonder how it would feel to be the one chosen by you,” and Rin holds his tongue as his husband gives a soft sigh. “It might be a challenge though,” Motoya muses, “since I suppose I would have to catch your interest at first glance,” a depreciative sound leaves Motoya’s throat, “in another life, I probably would have been too boring to even be a speck in your line of sight.” 

If Rintarou pulls Motoya a little closer after the man’s confession, he does not acknowledge it. Instead he hums, playing with his husband’s hair, twirling strands around his finger. 

“If that’s what you dream of then,” Rin presses a chaste kiss to his husband’s hair, “I can make it happen, the next time you visit.” 

He’s in the business of selling the illusion of desire after all.

* * *

Tonight is going to be a little different from other nights, but in the banquet hall, both husband and husband are still perceived in the gaze of others. 

Here, they still have predetermined roles to play, so as usual, on nights when Motoya is led to the banquet hall to wait for him, Rintarou takes his time pulling on layer and layer of fabric. His outer kimono tonight is brighter than what he usually wears, the colours of the hem popping from the darker kimono underneath. 

Prepares his face with minimal makeup, lines his eyes with bold red. Considers painting his lips before deciding against it, and proceeds to leave his room, ready to meet his husband. Takes his time going down the stairs, before making his entrance to the banquet hall - slipping in quietly as the younger  _ maikos  _ are performing a score on the shamisen. 

His husband’s cup is empty, and Rintarou knows that the other man has not touched a single drop of wine. Habit turned custom between them two, and it’s easy to imagine Motoya refusing a well-meaning apprentice from pouring his fill. 

His expression is far away, and Rintarou follows the other’s gaze, which seems to be on one of the courtesan’s hands. Her fingernails are oval in shape, filed meticulously, and painted pink. Her skill with the instrument is apparent, and what’s obvious is that the girl is favoured, if the ornate _ kanzashi _ in her is to go by. A branch of peonies carved out of silver, and her _ kimono _ soft and pastel. Motoya himself seems to be lost in thought, his fingers tapping to the tune of the soft strum of the _ shamisen’s  _ melody. Rintarou takes his seat across Motoya, who doesn’t seem to notice him just yet, clearly lost in thought. A low hum in the other man's throat, and his eyes are half-lidded. 

Taking hold of the jug in front of him, Rintarou pours two cups of wine, pleased that the wine jar is indeed full by the weight of it. Rintarou has learnt how to enjoy this routine with the other man, because the man has made himself exclusive to Rintarou’s service only ever since their third meeting. 

Motoya had admitted to being a light-weight in their second meeting, the faintest tint of pink on his cheeks upon this admission. Drew his boundaries by stating the only wine he would consume would be wine poured by the hand of his husband. Upon being asked why, he merely smiled in amusement, stating he would much rather embarrass himself sober than drunk. Rintarou, ended up drinking more than half of the jug by himself, as the other man only had tea and snacks, despite Motoya being the one paying for the wine that Rin was having almost all to himself. 

He pours plenty of wine for other spouses, is gifted wine far more expensive than anything Motoya given him by other patrons, and yet. There is no reason for Motoya to be making Rintarou feel this special.

It’s a courtesan’s job to look pretty and promise easy affection. Rintarou knows that his allure was vested in his cold gaze and aloof nature. Most of his patrons were on extreme ends of frosty and warm. The favour taking his attention for granted, the latter taking everything Rintarou could offer them, He would play the desired role to meet each spouse’s desires - being a pretty thing that provided easy compliments and half-smiles. 

It worked out. The austere could keep their back straight as if above everything Rintarou could give, receiving these offerings as if they were the ones providing favours. The amicable ones would feel special, as Rintarou would lavish attention on them, feed them grapes from the stem, hold the fruit over their mouth in good natured jest. 

When Motoya admitted his poor alcohol tolerance, it had shocked an honest giggle out of Rintarou. The second evening of their meeting and Rintarou remembers how from the corner of his eye, Motoya’s grin had softened into a curve. An expression that would have been unreadable were it not for the fondness that twinkled in his eyes. 

_ Ridiculous man. _ All Rintarou had offered was a peal of giggles on accident, and Motoya had the nerve to look so content. At the time, Rin wanted to remind the man of his place, to say “It’s because of the wine. I like a good drink.” 

However, he ended up holding his tongue, seeing as Motoya didn’t appear to care about the wine, gaze fixated on Rintarou only. 

“And here I thought I was special,” Rintarou dryly remarks, as Motoya still hasn’t noticed him yet. His husband jolts - surprised, and his knee bangs against the edge of the table. Motoya’s eyes are wide now, more from pain than surprise now if Rintarou had to guess, whimpering something incoherent. 

_ Serves you right for not paying attention to me.  _ A petty thought that Rintarou hides behind a pleasant smile, allowing the faintest bit of amusement to show on his face. “Didn’t you say that you only had eyes for me, Motoya?” Rin elongates the syllables of his husband’s name on his tongue, enjoying the brilliant blush that blooms across Motoya’s tanned cheeks. 

“Is a man not allowed to be distracted?” a helpless sigh escaping Motoya’s lips as he rubs his kneecap. 

_ You’ve been awfully distracted in your recent visits.  _

A passing thought and Rintarou blinks it away, before shrugging carelessly. “Of course not,” he clicks his tongue before continuing his reprimand, “you’re being a terrible husband right now. Especially since I put effort in my appearance for you each time we meet.” A thrill tingles up his spine as Rin mentions the words  _ effort  _ and  _ appearance _ , because tonight is going to differ from their usual routine. 

Motoya raises the back of his hand to his lower face, hiding a smile behind it, as well as the growing blush on his face. Rin wonders if Motoya knows that his eyes will always speak louder than any other part of his body. 

Feeling bold, Rintarou gets up from his seat opposite Motoya. Wine cup in hand, he settles to perch by his husband's side, leaning into it. Motoya raises his cup to clink against Rintarou’s own before taking a sip, eyes glancing back to the maiko still strumming their tune.

"Are they really that interesting?" Rintarou plays coy, sending a glance to the two apprentices that catch his cold gaze. If one of them misses a note to the song, it isn't his fault. 

Motoya only hums in response. "They're performing, so it's only courtesy for me to appreciate their skill," his husband states, "If I were the one up on stage singing, I would like at least a bit of attention from whomever I'm meant to perform for."

"Is that so?" and Rintarou feigns jealousy as he sets his wine cup down, to rest his hand on of Motoya's. Leans so he's a hair's breadth from Motoya's ear when he questions lowly, "Will you be singing for me tonight then, dear husband?" 

It's impressive how well Motoya is able to keep his composure, choosing to turn around to peck a placating kiss on Rin's forehead. 

"That's for you to find out tonight, isn't it?"

* * *

Eventually, like most nights, he leads Motoya up to his room on the 2nd floor of the teahouse. Less leading tonight as Motoya is already familiar with the steps that lead to his abode. His footsteps are heavier than usual as he’s carrying Rintarou up the stairs. 

Rintarou has one arm wrapped around the other’s neck, fingers curling around the softer part of his husband’s throat, feeling the low thrum of a hum underneath his fingertips. Motoya’s always the one putting in the elbow grease and hard work to keep Rintarou. Exactly how the courtesan likes them. This game of  _ push _ and  _ pull _ that the two of them have grown adept at playing. 

In this line of work, feeling wanted is easy, and being wanted is how an individual knows they’ve done a job well done. However, the other party in this act wanting to be wanted just as well isn’t just prevalent because they tend to assume that they’re wanted. 

Arrogance can look attractive at times, like how Atsumu wears it like second skin. His hair dyed blonde so others would tell him apart from Osamu upon first glance. Osamu, who’s arrogance comes from competition with his brother, knows that to be competing in the first place, he has to be doing his job well. Rintarou considers arrogance that nurtures pride. 

Playing these roles are part of his work, and learning to love what one does for a living is the first step towards happiness. Another thought, and Rintarou considers freedom, wonders if a bird can still find freedom in a cage. 

_ What is freedom _ ? 

The question flits across his mind, as gently, Motoya lowers him onto his mattress after sliding the bamboo screen shut with his foot. The other man’s strength still doesn’t fail to impress him, given that Rintarou is a little taller than this husband of his. Capable of carrying Rin’s weight in full, navigating himself deftly while maintaining passing conversation with the errand boys in the middle of cleaning. Motoya’s a favourite guest among the boys because he remembers each of their names. 

Rintarou places a hand on top of Motoya’s knee, and tilts his head to the side. “Do you still want what crossed your mind last time?” 

Sometimes, his spouses would voice out fantasies of theirs in questionable lucidity. The next time, Rintarou would offer them the opportunity to have a taste of it. Half of them would get cold feet, when presented with it sober. 

Motoya answers him like this. 

He takes Rintarou by the forearm, pressing a light kiss where the bottom of the palm meets the wrist. His husband uses his index finger as a perch for all four of Rin’s fingers and kisses each knuckle. All these spaces in between and Motoya looks up to meet Rin’s cool gaze. He smiles when he speaks. 

“There is nothing more than I want than to be at your mercy.” 

* * *

The outer kimono that Rintarou was previously wearing in the banquet hall is now wrapped around his husband. One layer over Motoya’s bare skin because Rintarou had made him strip before dressing him up in it. The excuse was that he had only taken out the garment today, and it would be a waste if Motoya couldn’t feel the quality of the fabric on his skin. 

Done with tying the sash around Motoya’s waist, Rintarou gets up to his vanity, looking for a hair piece, his rogue and lip paint. From the mirror, he can see Motoya sitting in a seiza position, with his head bowed, and eyes closed. His hands are folded neatly over his lap. The colour of the kimono Motoya is dressed in is a hue dark of tangerine orange, decorated with white, yellow, and peach-coloured flowers. The hems are decorated with goldfish detailed with gold thread. Rintarou has always had a preference for darker colours, and upon opening the parcel, Atsumu had immediately commented on the scowl on his face. 

At least Rintarou had finally found use for it, making his husband look no different from the courtesans across the street. Looking like a maiko about to greet his first guest in youthful colours that contrast against the deep green sash holding his robe together. Rintarou had considered allowing the collar to be looser, seeing as how the colour of the cloth paired nicely with Motoya’s tanned skin, but decided against it.

After all, he once had a different husband tell him that part of the fun was taking his time to slowly peel off each layer of clothing. Being so close to the object of desire, hands wandering underneath the robe, while the mind would still run wild with imagination. 

Rintarou finally picks a hair clip, seeing as the other did not have hair long enough to stick to a hairpin through. Not the fanciest item Rintarou owns among his accessories, but he thinks it would pair with Motoya’s entire outfit the best. A hairpin fashioned after a snowdrop, it’s petals made out of crystal. He’ll put it on the other man once he’s done with the makeup. 

Another thing about Motoya that Rintarou wasn’t expecting though, was how still the other man could be. Usually, his knee would shake, or his fingers would be tapping away an erratic rhythm. Right now, the most movement Rintarou has seen from Motoya would be the rise and fall of his chest from breathing as he kneels in front of the other man. 

Rogue first, and he tilts the other man’s chin upwards to swipe a little red over the apples of the other man’s cheeks, bringing more life to his face, compared to the docile doll he’s been the whole time. 

“Part your lips,” Rintarou commands, using his thumb to drop the other man’s jaw just a little. He had debated between the use of red or pink, but given the already bold orange, a pale pink would complete the look. On his fingers is a bit of gloss, and runs it over the other man’s lips which are slightly chapped at the edges. The weather has been hot recently, and Motoya should be drinking more water. Did he spend another whole afternoon in the garden before coming here? 

Finally, he reaches for the hair clip. The crystal from the snowdrop’s petals turn a warm shade of yellow from the candlelight next to them as Rintarou tucks away a lock of hair behind Motoya’s ear. Motoya’s eyes flutter shut, eyebrows knitted for a moment before they smooth themselves out. Rintarou fastens the clip and takes a step back to admire his work on the other man. 

“You’ve called me beautiful before, Motoya,” Rintarou says slowly, taking in the other’s appearance, “But I must admit, you clean up nicely yourself.” Motoya tilts his face up at that, and takes his time opening his eyes. A smile spreads across his face, reserved, compared to his usual cheery grin. Hands still folded over his lap, fingers on top of fingers. 

“Really?” his husband’s voice is soft, demure even, and Rintarou finds himself wondering if this is an act. If Motoya has already begun his role of play-pretend in this illusion that the two of them are weaving together. If so, then Rintarou needs to pick up the pace, setting down the rogue and gloss before he returns to his husband’s side. 

Rintarou nestles his head on the side of Motoya’s shoulder, feeling the fabric of the sleeve against his cheek. It’s silky and soft, and such a shame the colour is something Rintarou refuses to wear. Motoya makes something good out of the garment, so the kimono is no longer wasting away, folded up at the bottom of his drawer. Rintarou doesn’t bother with righting his posture, his legs lazily splayed to the side. 

“Yeah,” Rintarou’s voice is muffled by the sleeve, before he straightens himself to turn his husband’s face towards him with two fingers against the jawbone. “You’re beautiful,” he affirms, peering into the other’s eyes, cat-like pupils that dilate in desire, the most emotion that Motoya has allowed to slip since their act began. It’s gratifying to know, in the off-chance of roles being reversed, Motoya would still desire Rintarou. Rintarou runs his thumb over Komori’s brow, small and round, and incredibly cute. 

“The make up looks really good on you,” Rintarou allows his voice to go low, “You make a fine courtesan,” and Rintarou considers that other world, where instead of mornings which Komori will leave his bed in the morning to go back to his master, Rintarou is the one who leaves Komori only to return. Usually, he doesn’t allow himself to indulge in such thoughts, but if Komori has offered him the opportunity to, then who is to refuse himself? 

Courting a person required an understanding of desire, desperation, along with power. The apples of Motoya’s cheeks are tinged bright red, more so from the heat on his own face than the rogue. Rintarou wonders if anyone else has this sight. Love, body, and intimacy are part of this trade, and it’s funny how Motoya has offered him all of it before asking anything of him. 

The man in front of him is selfless, owner of a bleeding heart. Rintarou wonders if the Motoya who wakes up at dawn tucks his heart back into his sleeves, from the platter he offers them that are his palms. Passes his days wearing his heart on his sleeve, and gets hurt often enough to find refuge in these two arms that Rin possesses. 

_ Do you want- No. _

Before Ren-san had left the teahouse as one of his patron’s bridegroom, he had told Rintarou this.  _ Don’t ask the question, then the answer will always be no _ , were the parting words he had given Rintarou as Rintarou had helped his aniki pack up his belongings. It was also the first thing Ren-san had told him when he had taken a much younger Rntarou under his wing. 

In the distant future, now, Rintarou has realized that sometimes,  _ no _ is the better answer. 

_ No  _ can cause heart aches, and  _ no  _ can prevent heartbreaks. It’s a good word. 

This moment however, Rin thinks about the flowers of Yoshiwara, and what his patrons see upon walking in. Right now, while he had the allure nurtured into him as a flower, from the perspective of an outsider, he thinks he understands it a little better now too.

Motoya’s smile at his happiest, most amused, would split his face into two, the dimples on his cheeks appearing even more prevalent. Two rows of teeth that would show, and Rin would find himself feeling hunger stemming from impatience, his own personal vice. 

The hunger that’s clawing at his insides now is almost the same as all the hunger he feels with Motoya every other previous night. The Motoya right now has a careful, tentative smile adorning his pretty lips, but his eyes still shine with something that could be passed off as a convincing imitation of love. 

_ Is it an imitation? If so, where did you learn to make expressions like that? _ More questions for Rintarou to swallow down as he allows himself to pull the other man closer to him. Motoya laughs quietly as Rintarou nuzzles his hair. 

“You’re going to ruin your work like this,” and Rintarou can feel the other’s man smile at the base of his neck. Rintarou nudges Motoya onto his lap, drapes one hand over his shoulder, and feels the other man’s hand grip onto his back to steady himself. Rintarou has always thought of Motoya as pleasantly attractive, handsome really, but never  _ beautiful  _ till now. Makeup and lighting really did wonders for the individual he supposed. 

“So what?” Rintarou smirks at that, and feels Motoya’s other hand over his chest, “I’m the one who did all the work in the first place.” He puts one of his own hands at the back of Motoya’s head, bumps their foreheads together, their lips brushing when he speaks.

“Now, be good won’t you?” 

Motoya raises his hand to cradle Rintarou’s face and leans in for a kiss. 

* * *

During one of Motoya’s returns to Rintarou, he had brought a map of the mainland as a gift. Rintarou had one eyebrow raised upon receiving it. The parchment was rolled up, tied up with a red string, and waited for Motoya to explain himself. 

Motoya had shrugged with a wry smile on his face. “It might come in handy one day,” was all he had said, and left it at that. When Rintarou woke up the next morning with the man sleeping by his side, he had wondered if Motoya had realized how unintentionally cruel his gift was. 

The name  _ Motoya _ and the adjective  _ cruel  _ were not words that Rintarou would have ever expected himself to have strung together in a single thought. The morning sun had made Motoya’s soft features even softer. 

The night Motoya had given Rintarou the map, Rintarou had had his hands wrapped around the other man’s throat, his husband’s pulse underneath his index and ring finger. Motoya had asked him for pressure till his voice had become hoarse, and his lashes had caught tears. The next morning, Rintarou had looked at Motoya’s neck, the bruises on them, and then his own hand. 

Raised his hand high so his fingers would catch sunlight as Motoya slept. Thought about his hands on Motoya’s neck, and how he wanted to put his hands there once more. Had considered their positions, where instead of one day Motoya offers him freedom, Rintarou keeps the other man here under the guise of freedom. 

It wasn’t in Rintarou’s nature to fake affection in the mornings after. But Motoya looked content in sleep, and Rintarou thought he might have wanted to kiss him awake, seeing how even in dream, Motoya’s lips were still curved in a slight smile. 

Instead of kissing Motoya awake, Rintarou had thoughts, and kept them to himself even after Motoya woke up. 

_ What do you dream of? _ And as he had seen Motoya leave the gates of Yoshiwara, Rintarou had wondered what free men dream of. 

* * *

The gloss on Motoya’s lips is indeed ruined, smeared to the side of his mouth, the rogue on his face blended in with the blush on his cheeks and Rintarou has one arm pressing down on Motoya’s thigh to keep his husband grounded on top of him, and the other hand in Motoya’s hair, pulling his head back for more space to sink his teeth into. 

Motoya’s weight sinks into Rintarou, whimpers that escape his mouth. Motoya doesn’t try to swallow back quieter noises anymore, and when the soft  _ ahs- _ leave his lips with more pleasure than pain, Rintarou finds his appetite waxing into something needy, demanding to be fed. 

He wants to devour the man on his lap whole, especially because he knows Motoya would let him do as he pleases. It’s a treat that Motoya gives him, and Rintarou has always had a bad habit of being picky, or playing with his food. While he’s less of a picky eater now, playing with his food is still fun as long as he knows that he’ll get what he wants in the end. 

Rintarou is still the terribly impatient sort, but if the result is worth it, he’ll wait, maybe even work for it. He presses another kiss to Motoya’s mouth, pleased when the other man parts his lips pliantly for his tongue to slip past, and teeth to bite down on Motoya’s bottom lip. Rintarou has always found rough play much more fun, a metallic taste in his mouth as he pulls back. His husband gives a whine at the loss of contact, and Rintarou chuckles at that, ghosting along Motoya’s jawline before nipping at his earlobe, asking “What do you want?

“I want you, please,” the answer sounds like a plea, “I want you so badly,” this is Motoya, all dolled up with red on his cheeks, and lips swollen red from the biting. “It aches,” Motoya had his legs spread over one of Rintarou’s thighs, and one of his hands fisted into the collar of his clothes. His husband’s knuckles brushing against his chest.Rintarou considers desire, and if all of this was an act to Motoya. 

If it is an act, then maybe in another life, he would have been a very successful courtesan. 

Rintarou tugs at Motoya’s collar, the sash around his waist tight, so the only skin exposed is his upper torso. The marks he had previously left on Motoya’s skin are already. He doesn’t bother wasting time to remedy that. He licks his bottom lip, resting his palm over where the other man’s heart would be. Feels the muscle underneath flesh thumping at a steady beat, falling in line with the rise and fall of Motoya’s chest, lungs full of air. 

He digs his fingernails into tender skin, keen to leave little red crescents over the other man’s heart, fully aware that these marks will eventually fade away like all the previous ones left behind. Rintarou considers what it would mean to have this heart his palm, all for himself, before giving an aggrieved sound that a careful ear might find depreciating. 

Rintarou presses his nails in deeper, and Motoya winces, but doesn’t stop him, heartbeat finally catching up with the mood. He keeps his expression carefully benevolent when he admits, “I’m the impatient sort,” fingers still digging into the other man’s ribs, “and it’s your own fault for bringing out desire like this in me.” 

“Is that not my aim?” Motoya answers back with breezy nonchalance, resting his head on the edge of Rintarou’s shoulder, “To be desired by you?” glancing up at him with a mischievous gaze. Rintarou slips a leg between the other man’s thighs, knee brushing up against Motoya’s groin. “ _ Oh-”  _ the sound leaves his husband softly, and now the tips of his ears are so red. 

The tips of his ears are red, and Rintarou wants to bite them. 

So. He does. Gently. With teeth, 

The whimper that slips loose from Motoya’s mouth feels almost earned, and Rintarou is unable to help himself. In one swift movement, Rintarou has their positions flipped. Getting this husband of his under him is easy, because Motoya doesn’t fight him. It’s gratifying because it’s not due to the other individual being meek. Maybe it’s about taking control back into his hands too, since none of Rintarou’s other husbands lets him throw them around like this. Usually, he’s the one being thrown around due to the job description wanting him pretty and pliant. 

On top of the other man now, Rintarou cocks his head to the side, admiring the view underneath him, loosens the sash around Motoya’s waist. He doesn’t want to strip Motoya of the kimono though, not when he looks so lovely in it. 

He palms the other man’s growing erection, watching Motoya’s chest rise and fall, once more, only it’s more flustered, uneven. Rintarou’s holding back a laugh, not because it’s a mean laugh, but because it would sound too fond. To make up for the silence, Rintarou asks a question, slipping his hands underneath his husband’s smallclothes. 

“What do you want, Motoya?” he asks the same question, stroking Motoya’s length till it’s stiff against his stomach. 

“You,” same answer, and Motoya has an arm thrown over his eyes. 

“Then that means,” Rintarou lets go of his hold on Motoya’s cock, looms over the other man, and plucks Motoya’s arm away from his face, “I can have you however I want then, right?” 

“Rintarou,” Motoya rasps out his name, and it’s been a while since Rintarou has heard his husband utter all three syllables of his name, “please. Just hold me, take me, I don’t care,” and reaches to take hold of Rin’s wrist, kisses the inside of his palm and mumbles, “I just want to be all yours tonight.” 

And who is Rintarou to refuse such a sincere request? 

* * *

“There, that’s perfect.” 

Around the base of Motoya’s cock is red string, three cords knitted into a tight braid, tied into a pretty bow. Rin has never been the sentimental sort, but upon remembering their first time together, Motoya had called his dick pretty, and maybe this was punishment for that. 

Or a reward, depending if Motoya enjoyed this kind of play. He had fist clenched into the futon underneath him, his face turned away, and the snowdrop in his hair contrasting with the red of his ears. Body language indicating that while embarrassed, he wasn’t averse to what could be happening next. Anyway, his cock was still stiff, so it was possible he was trying to not appear too aroused either. 

It’s cute, really cute. 

“Motoya,” Rintarou sings the other man’s name as he puts away the parchment the string was previously used to bind, “Are you pouting?” shutting his drawer before returning to tend to his husband. The deep green sash has been discarded on the floor, though the kimono still remains over Motoya’s shoulders. 

“I’m not pouting,” Motoya says, and Rintarou takes three quick strides to look for himself. Holds Motoya’s cheeks between thumb and index, and again, that indignant streak flares in his eyes. Adorable. 

“Nope,” and he taps Motoya’s nose, “Liar, that’s a pout,” and Motoya pouts harder. Rintarou chuckles, and tugs the other man forward, cushions the other man’s head with his thigh. A small  _ oof _ from the other man, and Rintarou runs a hand through the other man’s hair, “Now, you said I could have you however I wanted, right? Or was that lip service?” 

Motoya shakes his head, paws at Rintarou’s clothes to remove them, exposing Rin’s cock. Rintarou has been hard the entire time, and Motoya, being an angel, gives the base of his shaft a long, slow stroke. He tilts his head in question, seeking permission, to which Rintarou nods. Satisfied with the gesture, Motoya parts his mouth to start earnestly sucking his husband off.

The other man’s skill has improved over their time together, and while Rin didn’t know much of the other man’s personal life, he couldn’t help the sarcasm that slipped off his tongue. Phrases his question nonchalantly, part of the act when he idly comments, “You’ve gotten so good at this,” scratching the other man’s scalp, “have you been seeing someone other than me?” 

His husband licks a long, wet stripe up the underside of his shaft. Another playful lap at the tip before he looks up at Rin, eyes hooded with a crooked smile. “Why would I be seeing someone else when I have you?” and it’s said with such sincerity that it makes Rin’s toes curl as Motoya continues to pump him lazily. Motoya’s ability to play the role of courtesan would have had Rin impressed, if he weren’t thinking about how to claim the man for himself. 

The game that the two of them are playing is dangerous, and Rintarou has to remind himself to not get lost in the illusion. Breaks up the pace that was originally in Motoya’s favour, pushing him backwards into the mattress. 

“You’re so sweet with your words,” Rintarou kisses the shell of Motoya’s ear, before biting down on it hard ”Be careful, or I might believe you,” he warns, voice thick with honey. A hitch in Motoya’s breath, and Rin smiles at that, kissing his husband’s temple, and then nipping at his neck once again. 

Motoya wraps his hands around Rin’s waist, and nuzzles his face into Rin’s hair. He whispers sweetly, “That’s my goal here, isn’t it? To make you believe my adoration for you.” 

Rin gives a helpless laugh at that, “Keep talking like that, and I’ll get you on your knees.” Motoya lets go of Rin, uses one hand to tilt Rin’s chin up for their eyes to meet. There’s a challenge in his tone, “What makes you think that isn’t what I want?” 

Rin grins at that, nips at the thumb that brushes against his mouth. “If so, get on your knees.” 

* * *

Motoya on his knees is a sight to behold, and Rin knows that he’s being ridiculous over one man’s tanned skin and freckles, while he now has two fingers gently working Motoya open. His husband is on his knees, back arched with his forearms pressed flat against the floor. 

A moan dragged itself long and slow from Motoya when Rintarou added a third, and Rin had kissed Motoya’s shoulder blades. Murmured praise in the other’s back, the dip of his spine, gorgeous. “You’re so gorgeous,” Rintarou uses his other hand to stroke Motoya’s cock, in time with his fingers stretching out his husband’s entrance. 

“ _ Nn-! _ ” an incoherent sound, and that’s as loud as Rin has ever heard the other man. Rintarou shushes him, kissing the back of his neck, “You’re doing wonderful, Motoya,” arches a finger to brush against his husband’s prostate, knowing that he has succeeded when he feels the man’s entire body shudder underneath him. Rintarou lets go of the other man’s length to steady him by keeping a tight grasp around his waist now. “So good,” a little extra praise as he kisses the back of Motoya’s ear, “Do you think you’re ready to take me now?”

His husband nods, “I can,” and pushes his hips backwards, sinking further into Rintarou’s fingers, “Have me, please.” 

“Because you asked so nicely,” Rintarou jests, and kisses the corner of Motoya’s eye where tears have formed from all his previous relentless teasing. He pulls his fingers out, and slicks his shaft with oil, making sure that Motoya would be comfortable. Preparation was key to both parties being satisfied, even if Motoya was whimpering at the sudden loss of contact once again. 

One hand on Motoya’s waist, and the other underneath Motoya’s throat, Rintarou angles himself to Motoya’s entrance. “So needy,” he mumbles by the side of his husband’s ear as he presses into him gently, “You’re so needy for me,” Rintarou laughs darkly, “It’s adorable. So tell me this, may I move?” 

“Rintarou, you’re such a tease,” Motoya exhales. Again, with no heat, only desperation, keens as he ruts back into the other’s length, “I’ve been waiting for you this entire time, so can’t you be nicer to me?” 

“I can be,” Rin muses, resting his chest over Motoya’s back, “But it really isn’t in my nature to be kind,” and he pushes himself deeper into his husband, “And you seem to like me as I am anyway,” moves his hips back and forth, his pace lazy, “Unless you don’t like me as I am?” 

“I do,” Motoya confesses, and Rintarou can’t help the feeling of fondness that bubbles in his chest, because Motoya makes it so easy, to want to give him almost everything, “But I also think you can be nicer to me?” 

“Okay,” Rin narrows his eyes, “Fine, I’ll be nicer to you,” picking up the pace, and finally fucks Motoya roughly, the way the other man enjoys it. Like this, Motoya’s voice pitches higher, and Rintarou has to quiet the other man down. 

“Shh, you’re getting loud ‘Toya,” Rin reminds the other man with another hard thrust, “Be more considerate, are you trying to wake up the whole floor? Shush,” Rintarou pants, before raising his hand to Motoya’s mouth, “You can bite on this if you must.” 

Motoya takes the offering, and bites down on the bridge between his thumb and wrist, hard. Rintarou can’t help the hiss of pain that leaves his mouth, but deals with it, being the benevolent husband he is. Lets Motoya sink his teeth into him, and decides that there are worse places to be bitten, plus, maybe he’ll make Motoya kiss it better later.

Rin allows the two of them to continue at this merciless pace till he can feel Motoya’s knees going a little weak underneath him. He figures he had worked his husband hard enough to meet his selfish desires, and pulls out first. 

“Ah- Rintarou, why are you-” Motoya turns his head around, and Rin catches the other man’s lips in a kiss. He pushes him down to the mattress, back against it, and continues kissing the other man, all passion and heat as he reaches down to tug on the bow around Motoya’s cock. 

“Shut up,” Rintarou smiles in between kisses, “Just thought that the two of us coming together would be an apt reward for how good you’ve been ‘Toya.” 

Motoya shivers as the string is tugged loose, presses another open-mouthed kiss against Rin’s skin. “Doing things like that might make me mistake you for a romantic, Rin,” his husband whispers. 

“Mn,” is Rintarou’s non-committal answer as he slicks both of their cocks against each other, hand grasping both of their lengths to bring them both towards completion. 

It doesn’t take too long for both of them to come, and when Rin does, he thinks about how it’s been a while since he last saw stars in the afterglow.

* * *

Dawn always arrives too soon, and when the two of them wake up, that’s when the spell from the night before will break. 

Usually, Motoya tends to dress himself up by the time the sun has risen. Upon being asked why, he had shrugged and said  _ habit _ . Occasionally, he leaves before Rintarou wakes up, leaving behind a note that promises that he’ll be back soon. Other times, he waits for Rintarou to wake up, just to say goodbye in person, to press a kiss against Rintarou’s cheeks, on his tippy-toes, even if it isn’t necessary, done so for the dramatics only. 

Rarely, Rintarou is the one who wakes up first, with Motoya still asleep by his side. 

Today is one of those rare days. On these rare days, Rintarou heats up tea for his guest of a husband, before dressing himself into lighter fabrics to face the day. Plain black with a decorative obi, and he gathers Motoya’s clothes, to help him dress later. 

Time passes slowly with Motoya still asleep, but Rintarou finds himself unable to wake the other up, seeing him appear so relaxed.    
  
Before their time alone, Motoya had appeared distracted, and with their previous time together, he had drunk more than usual. It hadn’t really crossed Rintarou’s mind that the other man could be having issues of his own - the kind that bothered a man so much he would try to bury them, just to never speak of them ever again. 

In the morning, with the sun rising over the horizon, Rintarou can’t help but doubt how well he knows the other man, remembering his performance from the night before. How sweet his words were, how his body bloomed under his touch, as if he were a flower greeting spring. 

Rin forces himself to bury these thoughts away too, reminds himself that the personal lives of his patrons were none of his business. So he settles for this, sitting at the edge of his futon which the other man is peacefully asleep again. 

More time passes, and it’s a little past the crack of dawn when Motoya finally wakes up, Rintarou alerted by the rustle of movement beside him. 

Eye to eye again, Motoya raises a hand to cover his mouth while he yawns. “You could have woken me up,” and his voice is hoarse from activities of last night, his body marked with bruises and bitemarks. 

If Rin were to look down at his own hand, he knows that he would see the imprint of teeth too. Motoya wasn’t one that usually left marks, and when he did, they were places that were easily hidden. Or maybe Motoya was just being considerate of him, never leaving too much of himself behind on Rin’s being. 

“You looked peaceful. Didn’t want to ruin that, ‘Toya,” Rintarou fakes ease with the slope of his shoulders. 

“Okay,” the other man agrees with him easily, probably due to not being fully awake yet. A content smile crosses his face as thoughtlessly as he says “Thank you for thinking of me.”

**Author's Note:**

> big thank you to kuro and ven for hyping me up and giving me the encouragement i needed to finish this.  
> aside from that, fun fact: hand biting was what inspired the OG dawn. and in the OG dawn, i forgot that i wanted to write handbiting. finally, i emerge victorious. 
> 
> catch me @RainElsewhere on twitter!!


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